


For the Taking

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Case Fic, Episode Related, F/M, Fic, First Time, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You realize that being entitled to something doesn't actually mean you can help yourself."</p><p>Spoilers up to 2.15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Taking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragonfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonfly/gifts).



> Big thanks to bethbethbeth and mergatrude for beta.

### Case: The Damocles Heist

Peter and Neal stood outside the museum, contemplating its imposing facade and the fact that someone had managed to abscond with a statue of Damocles that weighed nearly a ton and dated back to the Renaissance. A stiff breeze carried hints of fall, and the trees flanking the building were starting to turn.

"The security's pretty standard," Neal was saying. "Got something I can write on?"

Peter leaned into the car, rummaged in the glove compartment and found an interdepartmental memo about restructuring the Evidence Recovery Team. He handed it to Neal, and Neal turned it over on the roof of the car and started sketching a floor plan of the building.

Peter watched neat black lines spread across the page. "That's my pen."

"I won it," said Neal, shading in the security desk. He dotted the map with CCTV cameras. "You said whoever solved the case got the pen."

"I did." Peter dragged his gaze from the Quantico pen—or, more accurately, Neal's fingers. Fingers that must have found their way inside Peter's jacket to lift the pen, and how had Peter not noticed that—Neal brushing against him, delving into his clothing? Which was the answer right there: Peter must have been stoically refusing to notice. Of course Neal would've taken advantage of that. "You realize that being entitled to something doesn't actually mean you can help yourself."

Neal shot him a warm smile. "Just keeping you honest."

"Yeah, all right." Peter took the map and stepped away. They were on the clock, and Peter had a strict personal rule about not getting moon-eyed over Neal while they were working. "Come on. The head of museum security's waiting."

As they walked up the museum steps, Neal slid the pen back into his jacket and Peter wondered—just for a second—if Neal carried it as a trophy or if it was maybe a more personal memento. Like the way Peter sometimes slipped Neal's tracking anklet key onto his key ring and carried it with him, just because he could.

 **Verdict:** Inside job (curator's assistant and associate)

 **Result:** 1hr15 to trace statue to disused restroom on fourth floor of museum.

 **Postscript**  
"At least they had a buyer lined up," said Neal, holding up a printout of an email, which he'd found buried in the curator's assistant's in-tray. "Most people don't think that far ahead, their first time."

 

### Case: Scott Walker (see also The Missing Koltz Sculpture)

Jones forced the door. "FBI! Put your hands in the air!" and the team swarmed in with him, Peter in third after Jones and Carmichael, all with weapons at the ready, Diana right behind him. There was no sound from inside the house.

Neal had been somewhere safely at the back, but as the team scattered to check the adjoining rooms, he sidled up to Peter, hat in hand, his eyes scanning the room for evidence. Or automatically casing the joint. Peter knew how hard Neal's old habits died, and there was plenty to entice him here: several expensive-looking pieces near the water feature, for starters, and this was only the foyer.

"All clear," reported Diana from the top of the staircase, and Peter nodded and led Carmichael and Novak into Walker's home office. Neal tagged along, but then his phone rang and he hung back to answer it.

The team was emptying the filing cabinets into file boxes when there was a commotion from the foyer. Peter went out to investigate.

An older woman in a business suit was bullying her way past the agents on the door. Her footsteps rang out on the Italian tile. "I'm Mr. Walker's attorney," she said. "What in heaven's name is going on here?"

Peter gestured the agents back to their posts and went to meet her. "Special Agent Peter Burke with the FBI. We have a warrant to search these premises."

"Let me see," said the woman. "I'm Erica Walker, Scott's mother and also his lawyer." She gave Peter her business card, embossed with Walker & Schwartz LLP, and Peter handed over the search warrant. After she'd perused the warrant, she looked up, past him, and her expression became icy. "Not only is this trumped up nonsense, but it in no way explains why you've allowed a known art thief access to my son's collection."

Peter followed her gaze and sure enough, Neal was entering the room, sliding his phone into his pocket as he came. Peter beckoned him over. "This is my consultant, Mr.—"

"I know who he is," Erica Walker interrupted. "He caused utter chaos during a party I attended last year at the Italian Embassy. A thief and quite brazen about it too."

Neal tried on a charming smile as if he thought he could win the woman over, but Peter was pretty sure that was beyond even Neal Caffrey's legendary powers.

"He's under my supervision," said Peter.

"I'm sure," said Mrs. Walker, scathingly. She glanced across the foyer to a ledge beside the water feature and her gaze sharpened. "Where's the Koltz?"

"Sorry?" said Peter, but Diana was hurrying down the wide staircase. Peter excused himself and tugged Neal aside to talk to her.

"There's a safe in the bedroom behind a mirror," she said, keeping her voice low. "Combination lock."

"I could—" Neal started, but Peter cut him off.

"Get Novak up there to open it," he told Diana. This wasn't the time to take advantage of Neal's safe-cracking skills. Novak would be slower but he could handle most models of wall safe.

Neal opened his mouth to object, but Peter muttered, "Not now," and the two of them turned back to Mrs. Walker's glare. "You were saying something about a Koltz," said Peter.

"I don't appreciate these power games." Mrs. Walker's posture was rigid, her manner implacable. "My son has a bronze sculpture by Koltz, an abstract about eight inches tall. It sits next to the African violets, right over there and now it's gone. It's worth nearly a hundred thousand. Your _consultant_ must have taken it. "

A jolt of alarm focused Peter's attention. "I can assure you he didn't." It was Peter's place to suspect Neal of misbehaving and no one else's. But he made himself stop and take a breath; demonstrations of blind faith did no one any favors. He turned to Neal. "Did you see a Koltz?"

"No." Neal waved his hat in the direction of the water feature. "I did think there was something missing there, though. The composition's off." He looked candid and mildly affronted, and Peter's faith wavered: Neal was an opportunist by nature. But surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to compromise the investigation by helping himself to the suspect's private art collection, however tempting. Surely he knew better by now.

Regardless, pursuing this in front of Mrs. Walker put Neal's parole in jeopardy. She was watching Peter, her eyes cold and hawk-like. She arched one elegant eyebrow. "You're taking his word for it?"

"Yes. But if there's a sculpture missing, I assure you, we'll find it." In Peter's peripheral vision, Neal opened his mouth to speak. Peter shot him a warning look and Neal snapped his mouth shut, resentful but obedient.

"There is, and I should hope so," Mrs. Walker was saying crisply. "If the Koltz isn't returned immediately, I will press charges, and that will call this entire search into question. I imagine my son keeps the provenance and proof of purchase in his safe upstairs."

"We have that covered," said Peter.

Luckily, at that moment, Diana reappeared. "You need me, boss?"

"Take care of Mrs. Walker," said Peter, and he ushered Neal into one of the interior rooms, which turned out to be a dining room and empty of people. Peter shut the door. "Well?"

"I didn't take it." Neal met his gaze squarely, and something like relief fluttered in Peter's ribcage.

It was hard, these days, not to let his feelings for Neal affect his judgment at work, and knowing he was compromised—'smitten', according to El—only put him more on guard. "Are you sure? Because I seem to recall a Koltz statuette being the subject of several hours of testimony at your trial. How do I know you're not collecting the set?"

Neal stepped closer. "I didn't take it. I don't know who did or where it is. I didn't even know Walker had a Koltz. I didn't do this, Peter."

That seemed to cover all the bases, and Neal claimed he never lied outright to Peter. Peter studied him, trying to gauge his sincerity, too aware that his own reputation and his ability to do his job fairly and honorably depended on being able to doubt Neal, even when Neal had earned his trust over and over.

Earned his trust? Rather than waiting for Peter to extend it himself, Neal had stolen that trust outright, just like the Quantico pen, presenting Peter with a fait accompli: _you trust me now._

Peter did. He cared about Neal as a friend as well as an object of desire, and—God help him—he believed him. At least, enough to let him prove his own innocence. "Okay. Examine the area around the fountain and check the ground floor windows and doors for any sign of a break-in. Get Jones to help you."

Neal frowned. "He's packing up Walker's computer equipment. I don't need a babysitter, Peter."

"You need an alibi," Peter told him firmly. "And I have to oversee the search warrant. If the missing Koltz is a ploy by Walker to distract us from finding evidence of corporate fraud, it's not going to work." _And if you stole the sculpture, even temporarily, I need to know,_ he added silently. Expressing any lingering reservations wouldn't help the situation. He'd deal with Neal's guilt if and when he had to.

Neal took a breath and his frown cleared, leaving him earnest and businesslike. "All right. I'll get Jones." He headed for the door, then hesitated and turned back. "Peter, just—thanks for believing me."

"Thank me by finding the damned statue," said Peter, and hurried back to work, hoping like hell he hadn't been wrong about Neal all along.

 **Suspect:** Scott Walker

 **Verdict:** Guilty of securities fraud, tax evasion, conspiracy to defraud

 **Result:** Electronic evidence seized during execution of search warrant; supplementary evidence discovered in personal safe, hidden inside hollow bronze sculpture.

 **Postscript**  
"It seems I owe you an apology, Mr. Caffrey," said Erica Walker, stiffly.

Neal dipped his head. "Tell Scott not to move the sculpture next time. If you're going to hide things in plain sight, you have to have the nerve to leave them where they belong. Otherwise it just draws attention to them."

Peter rolled his eyes. "When you're done giving criminal advice..."

 

### Case: The Hundred Grand (Proceeds of Undercover Operation) (unofficial)

"Per your request, I deposited the $800,000 in the FBI bank account this morning," said Neal, of his poker winnings from the old New York room.

Peter rolled his eyes. This, then, was their plateau, their equilibrium, where siphoning a hundred grand in cash from the FBI was a game. Where Neal was hardly even trying to hide his misdeeds. Where he knew Peter would catch him out, and maybe wanted him to.

This might be his twisted version of flirtation, for all Peter knew, or maybe palming a percentage of the take was just a compulsion Neal couldn't shake.

Either way, Peter was okay with that. Fundamentally, frighteningly okay. He didn't trust Neal to behave lawfully, even now, but he didn't have to. Because Neal was Neal, and _that_ was where Peter pinned his faith. That Neal would be wholly and utterly himself, and that after all this time, Peter knew him well enough to understand and predict the consequences of that.

Mostly.

These days, more than ever, Neal seemed to want Peter to catch him. This was their dance.

 **Suspect:** Neal Caffrey

 **Verdict:** Guilty of misappropriating $100,000 from FBI funds

 **Result:** Total sum recovered. Crime mitigated by (i) funds missing for less than 12 hours; (ii) suspect freely confessed and returned full amount; (iii) funds (in cash) hidden on FBI premises; (iv) suspect gave no indication of planning to relocate or misuse funds.

 **Postscript**  
Peter leaned on the desk next to Neal. "Bottom drawer?"

"Yeah." Neal leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. "I don't suppose we could call it a commission?"

"Nope." Peter stuck the receipt in his breast pocket. "Just keeping you honest."

Neal didn't reply. When Peter looked up, there was a faint flush in his cheeks. Peter clapped him briefly on the shoulder and walked away before one of them did something stupid, right there in the middle of the office.

 

### Case: The Caffrey Entrapment (unofficial, personal and highly confidential)

"You know he's madly in love with you," Peter told Elizabeth the evening after Neal kissed and hugged her in front of the entire office and made himself at home behind Peter's desk, undercover as 'Agent Burke' for the benefit of Andrew Stanzler's assistant, Brooke. "Should I be jealous?"

El grinned at him over the rim of her wine glass. "I think if I've managed to keep from getting jealous this long, the least you can do is return the favor."

"I think you pose a much greater temptation than I ever have, Mrs. Burke." Peter took her glass and put it on the coffee table next to his own, then interwove their fingers. "Do you think he planned this whole charade, pretending to be me?"

"Does it matter?" El curled up against him. "Every time you take a step closer to Neal, you second-guess yourself and him. You think he doesn't feel the same?"

That pulled Peter up short. He hadn't considered that Neal might have reason to be wary of trusting him too. He sighed and pressed a kiss to the top of El's head. "You know I'm terrible at this kind of thing. What do we do?"

"What do you want to do?" El placed her fingertips at the vee of Peter's open shirt collar. "Do you think it's time?"

"Time for a fishing expedition. Maybe." Peter held her close and considered. Too much more unsubstantiated speculation about the state of Neal's heart, and Peter thought he might lose his mind. He didn't know if Neal would rise to their bait, but El was right, it was time to find out.

"A key to the house," said El, "engraved with his initials. I'll fasten it to the clasp of my necklace for the party on Saturday. If he helps himself—"

"It's Neal. Of course he's going to help himself," said Peter wryly. First the pen, then Peter's trust—as far as it went on any given day—and now this. The only reason for Neal to hold back would be if he wasn't interested. If he didn't want to further complicate their already complicated dynamic.

El pulled away enough to meet Peter's gaze. Her eyes were brimming with mischief, but her words were almost wistful. "He's never stolen anything from me before."

"That you know of." Peter held her tight and tried to quash his nerves. "All right, we'll do it. A key. And I'll let the Marshals know he might need to leave his radius after the party."

 **Verdict:** Petty theft, conspiracy to engage in lewd behavior

 **Result:** Full confessions. Compensation, to all parties' mutual satisfaction.

 **Postscript**  
Neal lay back against the pillows and stretched like a naked, languorous cat. His chest bore several hickeys courtesy of El, and he was wearing the most self-satisfied grin Peter had ever seen on a human being.

As gratified as Peter was by the turn of events, he couldn't let that grin pass without comment. He poked Neal in the ribs. "Don't look so smug. You didn't get one over on me this time—if anything, this was practically entrapment."

Neal smile took on an altogether more seductive cast. He looked up at Peter through his lashes and said, "You think I didn't plan this all along? Peter, you wound me."

"You—" Peter narrowed his gaze. "No. Tonight was our idea. You played right into our hands."

"Don't panic," said Neal hastily. "It was all done with the best of intentions." He trailed a finger from Peter's waist to his hip. "The very best. The most honorable of motives."

El sat up on Neal's other side and shook her head at both of them. Her makeup long since gone, her cheeks flushed and her hair loose about her shoulders, she looked like a mermaid or a siren. "I think," she said, firmly if huskily, "I'm calling this one a three-way tie. I think we all stole each other."


End file.
